The Abyss
by YuriKaslov
Summary: He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. A loose novelization of Fallout 3.


**Alright, I'm back in the groove and I've actually got a plan for this one. Ten chapters are already planned and I've got ideas bouncing around for others as well, and a general idea about where this is going.**

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_Expulsion_

Samuel was not exactly happy with the lot life had thrown at him. One test – a single goddamn test – determined who he was supposed to be for the next however long he was living. And worst of all, he was stuck with a job he had absolutely no interest in.

Specifically, he was to be the Vault's apprentice technician.

It's not like he wasn't at all interested in engineering or electronic, but he had never thought he'd be going into that field after school. But the time had come and he was now training with Stanley on weekdays.

It was as boring, yet at the same time intensely challenging, both physically and mentally, as Samuel had imagined.

Not like the job didn't have its perks. Samuel could have as much coffee as he liked, and he got more meal chits than the average vault worker. Plus, he got a badass-looking utility belt with all kinds of neat gadgets on it.

The cantina was almost empty when he arrived; Caitlyn DeLoria – one of Butch's cousins – sat behind the bar counter reading what appeared to be a copy of _Last of the Mohicans_. She perked up to look at him, and waved.

"Let me know if you want anything, Sam." She said, before re-burying herself in her book. Sam hadn't actually come around for much more than a place to chill, so he took the corner booth and started fiddling with his PIP-boy. If one adjusted the battery cell and resistors just right, they could increase the overall performance of the unit by upwards of three or four times the factory standard.

He placed the unit's faceplate aside and examined the innards. Piece by piece, he took apart his PIP-boy, laying each one out in just the way it was in the diagram Stanley had shown him some weeks prior. Before long, he could see the skin of his forearm, which compared to the rest of his skin was notably devoid of coloration.

The door slid open and Sam looked up to find Butch DeLoria standing in the doorframe. He looked around, but when their eyes met, Butch visibly hesitated, adjusting the sleeve of his leather jacket. Sam smirked and broke off his gaze, going back to what he was doing.

Butch had an undying fear of Samuel.

It wasn't caused by anything Sam did intentionally, but rather as the result of circumstance. Two years prior, Butch's gang, the self-proclaimed 'Tunnel Snakes', had been harassing Amata and a number of the other Vault women. Sam thought that he wouldn't be able to take on all the Tunnel Snakes at once – he knew he'd probably get his ass beat, but still tried to stand up to his longtime rivals, especially since it was on behalf of a close friend. There was taunting, and before long a brawl had developed, with Sam only managing to actually hit Butch twice. Wally Mack shoved Sam into Butch, however, and the lattermost of the three slammed against a faulty section of piping. Steam, nearly hot enough to melt skin, erupted, and both Wally and Butch ended up being lain up in the infirmary for weeks while they recovered from their burns, which luckily hadn't been life-threatening or debilitating for either.

The barest frame of the PIP-boy looked like something out of some cheesy horror film. The unnatural color, the fact that there were at least six different quarter-inch spindles piercing the neglected, blue-tinged skin underneath the housing, it all looked quite grotesque, and it was probably for the best that only technicians ever actually got to see that. Worse still was the smell of... whatever it was that had caked up under the frame… If his disposition leaned more towards the squeamish side, he probably would've puked.

The door slid open again, but this time a more pleasing visage made its entrance: Amata Almodovar. She, just like Butch, scanned the nearly empty room and eventually spotted Sam, who waved with his free hand. She grinned and strutted over to his booth in the corner, sitting down opposite of her technician friend. She grimaced when she saw his bare forearm and let out a quiet groan.

"Does it bug you that much?" He asked, examining each piece of his PIP-boy. "I'll put it back together in a few minutes."

"I… take your time." She said, averting her eyes. Sam chuckled and started piecing the wrist-borne computer back together after cleaning and adjusting some portions of it. When he was finished, he powered it back up and flexed his arm. It was surprising how much heavier the arm is with the PIP-boy than without, although most people never take theirs off.

"So how was your day, Amata?" Sam asked after ordering a nuka-cola. "I heard they kept you running around all the time in your training."

"Oh, yeah. It's, ah, it's weird. It's not exhilarating, but it's something to do…" She sighed, looking downtrodden. "Truth be told, it's less than I had hoped for. There's nothing exciting, or entertaining about it, it's just a job…"

"What exactly do you _do_?"

"Paperwork, mostly. Read lots of paperwork, fill out a bunch of forms, et cetera." She paused and ordered herself coffee. "It's not all fun and games in politics and leadership. Most of what it _was_, was my father explaining in what I imagine to be painstaking detail the inner workings of every single facet of every single high-ranking job in this place." Sam glanced at his PIP-boy. A little over forty-five minutes had passed since he first walked in. "And what about you?" Amata asked.

"Oh. Uh, I got shown the ropes. By Stanley. I can't imagine doing the things he does… even at my age. Then I look at him and he's four times my age, I don't get how he does it."

"What does he do? I don't think I've ever really seen him working before."

"Well, if he's not checking this thing or that thing, he's working behind the scenes to keep everything up and running." He sipped from his nuka-cola. "We entrust a _single man_ to puzzle out every single issue and trouble we have with this place. And then he has to fix it by himself. Some of the pipes he carries must weigh a _ton_, I could barely move them myself." He slouched back and sighed. "It must drive him batshit crazy. Nobody even thinks about what it is he does."

"You're probably the perfect man for the job, then. Young, strong, smart, handsome…"

"If I was here for your viewing pleasure I'd be sure to take off my shirt." Sam retorted. Amata chuckled. Sam returned to his upright position. "But I mean in the long run. I hate to say it, but Stanley probably doesn't have much time left, and chances are he'll retire not long after I'm taken on permanently. So I'll be all on my own, no aid, nothing."

"You have the robot."

"True. But it's not much consolation unless he can carry a two-hundred-pound chunk of metal or figure out where the life support system is fucking up." He smiled. "But at least if something bad happens, I won't be immediately held accountable. Unlike you."

"Like I'd ever let something bad happen to this place."

"Ever the idealist…" He gulped more of his soda. "But let's just say, theoretically, that something were to happen. Like an insurrection. How would you deal with it?" To this Amata cradled her chin between her forefinger and thumb.

"Well, I'd find out _why_ they're revolting, firstly." She paused. "If possible, we would come to an agreement."

"And what if it involved killing or enslaving certain members of the population? I mean, you can't sell people…"

"If they don't back down… well, I'd think of something."

"Get real." Amata glared at him, lips pursed.

"Like a mechanic would know about politics."

"Hey, screw you. _I'm_ not the one who failed history." Sam said, the two of them now glaring from across their table. He averted his eyes after several seconds, and she grinned triumphantly.

"Christ, this place is always so empty nowadays," Amata said, breaking the topic of conversation, before she finally took a sip from her coffee.

"Yeah," Sam said, "Seems like a pretty fair portion of the older generation's been dying off as of late. Nobody wants to have kids." He stopped, glancing at Butch, who was passed out at a booth on the other side of the room. "In fact, I don't think anybody's had a child since we were all born."

"Well, it's in the manual. There are specific times when people are supposed to have children, and they're all supposed to be born around the same time. That way there's less age difference."

"Who the fuck reads the manual?" Sam asked, cocking his head.

"People in politics," Amata said, her visage now smug. "And anyway, the next conception period isn't for a few more years. Three years, to be exact."

"Not really interested in the details."

"You only get one or two chances. It's probably a good idea to start looking for a partner now…" Amata said, leaning forward a bit. Sam frowned.

"Didn't you just say I had three years?" He quickly changed the subject thereafter. "Oh, have you noticed anything going on with my father recently?"

"The doc?" She asked, immediately followed by a sarcastic remark by Sam. "He and Jonas both seemed pretty on-edge when I was talking to them earlier. I don't think your dad's gotten any sleep for a few days now."

"It's kinda worrying me. I know he's an adult and all, but he's getting older, you know?" Sam shifted, clicking through his PIP-boy. "He's been talking a lot, too. About my mother and something about his 'life's work'. You know anything about that?"

She almost choked on her coffee when she heard that, and quickly brushed his question aside.

"Don't worry about it, Sam!" she said, smiling. "I'm sure your dad'll be fine." She checked her own PIP-boy. "Shit, I'm gonna be late…" She stood and tossed a chit at Caitlyn. "I'll see you later, Sam, assuming dear-old-dad doesn't decapitate me for tardiness."

"Yup." Sam said, waving slightly. With that, Amata left the cantina on her own way. With a heavy exhale, Sam stood, and tossing his own chit at Caitlyn (and missing horribly) he left as well, headed back to his apartment.

His father wasn't there. Assuming the guy was just working, Sam took it upon himself to get in some sleep before training on the next day.

Sam felt somebody grabbing his shoulders, even while he was asleep. It was like his slumber was a lake, in which he was submerged, and whoever it was grabbing him was reaching through the water. An unusual sensation. His eyes opened groggily and he turned his head about, trying to gauge what was going on. Standing next to his bed was none other than Amata Almodovar.

In the background Sam heard the vault's alarms going off. Did he accidentally sleep through a drill?

"Oh, Amata." Sam said quietly, rubbing his eyes. "What're you doing here?" She shifted nervously, her eyes constantly darting towards the door of his apartment.

"Sam," She began. She was holding a backpack, which was strange.

"Is something wrong?" Sam asked. He was no morning person, and he spoke in an airy tone with his words spaced out unnaturally. He was talking, but nothing was registering in his mind, other than the fact that it was early and he wanted to roll back over and get back to sleep.

"Yes, something's wrong." She stopped and looked over the drowsy boy who was now half-propped up on one elbow and rubbing at his eyes. "Hey, are you listening?"

"Huh? Oh, yes. Uh, I don't know, my wallet's over there…" He closed his eyes and his mouth dropped open about an inch. He was shaken awake again.

"Hey, Sam! Listen!" Amata snapped. "Get up! Come on, you don't have time to sleep!"

"What…? Amata… shit!" He yelped sharply when Amata's hands grabbed onto his collar and hefted him into an upright position. "What, what!?"

"Wake up!" She repeated. "Get dressed and wake up!"

He obeyed, hopping out of bed and quickly throwing on one of the vault jumpsuits he found in his dresser before returning to Amata.

"Okay, I'm up! What's the problem, Amata? Why'd you have to wake me up so early?"

"Look, Sam, I don't know how else to say this, but… your dad left." Amata said hurriedly. Sam blinked.

"What?" He barked after a second, cocking his head as though he hadn't heard her right. "Say that again?"

"Your father has left."

"Yeah, he never came back yesterday. What's this got to do with me?"

"No, I mean he left, as in he left the vault."

"What?" He barked again, an incredulous grin halfway creeping across his face. "Is that even possible? I thought the surface was barren!"

"Evidently not!" she said, before shaking her head vehemently. "Either way, _you_ need to go, too."

Sam blinked again.

"What!?" That was the third time he'd asked that same question, this time louder. He went silent, his mind barely processing what was happening.

"Okay, Sam, listen carefully. Your father left the vault with the help of Jonas. When my dad found out, he snapped – he sent half the security force after them, and Jonas got killed when he blocked their pursuit. I think they'll come after you next."

Sam held out a hand.

"So you're telling me that I should just give up my home and run away because your dad _might_ come after me? I didn't even know my dad was planning on doing this, I'm innocent!"

"That might be true, but my dad doesn't _care_, Sam. When your father left, he let in a couple hundred radroaches. A few people have died, and it's been tough to regain control over the situation; I escaped from my dad when the roaches started attacking. It's chaos out there."

"You're kidding me, Amata! I'm not leaving!"

"Sam, my dad will _kill_ you. I mean it. He's out for blood and since Ja—er, your father—isn't here, you're the next best thing. He might even hold you for ransom!" She paused and shook her head. "I have a plan, though. I know a way out of the vault."

"I –"

"Just hear me out! They're going to realize that I've run off eventually, Sam, so I need to hurry and get back there." She paused, tenting her hands. "Okay, Stanley's already shown you one of the passages to the vault entrance room, right?"

"Yeah, that was the first thing he showed me."

"Good. Okay, that way will be cordoned off by this point, but there's another route. In my dad's office." She held out a key. "I've seen it in a keyhole on his desk. I'm pretty sure there's a passage under there."

"You're kidding me. What if there's not? I could be trapped!" Sam protested. He was absolutely opposed to leaving. He even thought about just turning himself in, although that probably wouldn't end well. In the end, it was either be unlawfully detained, or risk getting killed on the surface.

"Trust me." Amata said, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. Trust her? Sam was being told to leave his home. It was the place he had grown up, and it might not even be _possible_ for him to return. And that's not even going into what might happen on the way _out_. There were a few dozen armed people out for his head, if Amata was to be believed. Sam hadn't ever actually fought, either, so if he was caught he'd be a dead man.

But then, if he _didn't_ go he'd be a dead man as well.

"Screwed either way, huh?" He remarked as he started going through his stuff and getting ready to leave. He couldn't imagine a way this would work out favorably for everyone. Amata shifted nervously as he moved about, occasionally directing her eyes towards the door, before speaking again.

"Sam, I brought some stuff for you. Here." She handed Sam the backpack she had brought. He perked up and took it, looking through its contents. He reached in and felt something _dangerous_.

"A pistol!?" he yelped, pulling the device from the pack. "What the _hell_?!"

"It was just in case! I'm not going to use it, I thought maybe… if something bad happened…"

"I couldn't live with myself if I shot somebody! I know all these people, Amata, and I would hope they don't hate me so much that I'd be forced into using something like _this_!"

"Just take the damn thing! If my dad knew I took it he'd kill me!" Amata returned, hissing, before averting her eyes. Sam threw several jumpsuits into the bag, as well as several stimpaks and morphine from his father's office. "Sam, I'm going to go. Hurry up, I'll try and keep my father distracted."

Sam nodded, saying nothing as he got ready to make his escape. Amata left with a sigh, jogging down the corridor. Before going, he remembered his utility belt, which was draped over the backrest of his couch. It might come in handy. Especially… once Sam made it topside. _If_ he made it topside, that is.

Only the emergency lights were active when Sam first went out into the corridor, with his backpack and everything he thought he'd need. It gave the vault an unnaturally eerie aesthetic, with all its _normally_ dark corners taken to an extreme. While Sam, and all the rest of the vault population, were used to low light-levels, deactivating all these lights seemed excessive and it made it hard to gauge whether or not there was anything in Sam's way.

And it was this that caused him to leap back with a fright when he nearly walked onto a cluster of radroaches who were swarming what must have been… one of the vault's security officers? Sam let out a yelp, though he quickly slammed a hand over his mouth, and felt his stomach turn over as the smell of blood and feces wafted over. While retching, Sam stepped by the poor, deceased security officer and made his way through the halls, ignoring the terrific catastrophe that was making its way through the vault. Even the security were largely ignoring Sam in favor of dealing with the radroaches who, according to Amata, had been let in by his father. Sam couldn't help but feel a small bit responsible, therefore, in his father's stead. Worse still was that now, Jonas was also dead. That made both of the vault's medical personnel, dead. Sam was the last person in the vault with even a basic understanding of medicine.

However, not all of the security officers had their priorities straight.

Guarding the main entrance from the atrium were three entrenched security officers. A group of disillusioned vault-dwellers, six or seven of them, attempted to charge the three security officers, but when they did so they were fired upon in what Sam thought was cold blood. However, he could spare no time as he quickly darted across the atrium and up to the upper levels in the confusion, where there was, according to Amata, a second way into the vault's entrance.

As Sam made his way closer to the Overseer's office, he nearly ran headlong into Officer Tristan, one of the younger members of the security team. The two stared at each other briefly before Sam attempted to push past him.

"Whoa, hold on, Radcliffe!" Tristan said, outstretching his arm to keep Sam from going by. "You know we have a warrant out for you right now, right?"

"Don't you have more pressing matters to attend to? There's people fighting and dying down there."

"We've got it under control. But you, you have to come with me."

He made to grab Sam's arm, and did so roughly, twisting Sam as he did so.

"Hey, let go! Look, just let me go, I'm going to leave!"

"What?" Tristan said, pausing. He cocked his head and smiled. "Opening that vault door could ruin this place, Radcliffe. Your father already demonstrated that." He paused again. "Besides, we need a doctor here. We won't harm you, I promise. Not even Alphonse is that stupid."

"Officer, I really don't have time for this," Sam said, reaching back into his backpack. He gripped the pistol and was ready to intimidate the young officer. "Just let me go on my way."

"If I let you go, a lot of people will die. You _need_ to help your vault, right? I can promise you, I won't let anything bad happen to you, if that's what you're worried about."

"It's not that." Sam produced the handgun, immediately silencing Tristan, who released Sam's arm and took several steps back with his hands outstretched in the air. "I'm sorry, officer."

"So am I, kid. Get the fuck out of here." Tristan snapped, scowling. "You're lucky I didn't have my baton on me, or I'd beat the shit out of you, you brat."

Making sure to keep the handgun pointed towards Tristan as he jogged away, Sam made his way. The security officer made no moves to apprehend Sam, nor did he follow. At least the guy had that much common sense.

It was when he approached the security office that Sam heard three distinctive, familiar voices.

"Amata, please be reasonable!" Came the first voice. It was quite clearly masculine, although the heightened pitch was indicative that he was talking to somebody dear, or to a small child. It was Alphonse Almodovar, Amata's father and the incumbent Overseer. "Officer Mack might enjoy this – but _I_ don't!"

"I swear, I don't know!" Came the second, clearly female and clearly distraught. Amata.

"You'd best talk, you little wench!" Came the third, this one masculine, the owner's tone fury-tinged. Steve Mack. Part of the Mack family, a series of sociopathic morons, as Sam saw it.

It passed through Sam's mind to try and intervene, but even as new as he was, Steve was strong and had been in training for some time. Sam weighed the options. For several minutes, he crouched underneath the security office window listening to the back-and-forth, and heard what he _knew_ was Mack striking Amata. Even without seeing it, he felt heat building up in his gut. It made him angry.

Yet his logical side screamed at him, telling him to ignore it; Alphonse is a reasonable man, and he would _never_ allow the psycho he now wielded injure his _own daughter_, at least not severely. Yet here he was, standing aside as, _smack_, that damned baton, _smack_, landed again and again. Amata had begun to cry, and whimper with each successive blow until Sam figured Alphonse had called off his dog.

Sam's heart raced and he _knew_ he would get himself killed by doing it, but he reached up and slammed on the door controls. The thing slid open and the scene quickly went quiet as Alphonse went to check on what it was that had opened the door, saying "stay here" to his hound.

He was greeted by cold steel, the handgun's barrel, pressed up against his temple.

"Mister Radcliffe." The Overseer said simply. "I am glad you could make it."

"Go back into the security office." Sam said shortly. "You, and Mack, the both of you press yourselves up against the opposite wall."

Understanding he had little choice, or so Sam believed, Alphonse gestured to Officer Mack to do as instructed.

"Amata, come on."

The woman barely needed any further encouragement, and was promptly dashing out of the security office as her father and assailant were held up. Ensuring she made it safely away, Sam addressed the Overseer and his lackey.

"How could you, Mister Almodovar? How could you torture your _own daughter_ this way?"

"Who are you to question my actions? You, and your father, have killed so many people. And now you're leaving, aren't you? Even more people will die as a result." He shook his head. "It's a waste."

"I'm sorry, Mister Almodovar." And without further adieu, and without waiting for a retort, Sam closed the security office door and trotted towards the Overseer's office.

However, he was barely ten feet down the hallway when the security office door shot back open, and Officer Mack came sprinting out after Sam. Sam made an about-face to look, but found himself being quickly tackled after hearing an unintelligible shout from the deranged security officer. Sam's pistol went skittering away over the floor and Sam knew it was over. Without a fight, Sam was pinned under the weight of the older officer, his arms stuck under the officer's knees.

Every second, the officer's fists came down in alternation, striking Sam's face, the boy's head bouncing off of the steel floor with each blow. The officer had to be shouting something, yet Sam could register only noise, not words. Sam could feel it, the intense pain, could see the blood on Mack's knuckles.

The assault continued as Mack gripped Sam's hair and slammed the kid's head against that same metal floor, once… twice… thrice…

There was a bang, and suddenly the onslaught ceased. Mack slumped off to the side, but Sam had no clue what was going on. He heard something metal hit the floor some distance off, and Amata's comforting voice calling out to him.

"Oh, God! Sam!" She cried, rushing to his side. Sam propped himself up on the floor, looking about with a new headache and an aching face.

"What? Amata, what the hell just happened?"

"Mack, he… he attacked you, Sam! Don't you remember?"

"Christ…" Sam rubbed his temples and then noticed his nose was bleeding and bent at an unnatural angle. "No, I don't remember. All I remember is a flash of blue and black…"

"Can you stand? We still need to get you out of here, before the rest of the security guards come."

"Yeah, I…" Amata supported Sam as he stood, feeling woozy and weak at the knees. Every movement of the eyes hurt his head, as well. The two walked to her father's office and opened up the tunnel underneath Alphonse's desk. He almost fell as he traversed those stairs, being saved both times by Amata.

"Come on, Sam, we're almost there." She said, opening up a false wall which lead directly into the vault's entrance chamber. Sam sat on the stairs which lead down to the door itself as Amata manipulated the controls, his headache unerring and intense, and his bleeding no more merciful as half his visage was running with blood. Alarms went off and the door's opening sequence began. In the meanwhile, Amata did her best to attend to her friend's wounds, cleaning up the blood and giving him a rag to staunch the bleeding. She ran off and returned shortly with aspirin and water, placing two bottles of water and the aspirin into his pack before handing him two pills and a third bottle of water.

He took the medicine and doused it with water before standing as the door fully opened.

"I'm sorry Sam." Amata said, massaging his shoulder. "You shouldn't have tried to save me." She slipped the handgun, and a note, into his backpack. "My dad isn't so cruel. But thank you."

She hugged him, a fact which barely registered in Sam's muddled thoughts. He smiled.

"Maybe I'll be back some day, Amata." He said, quietly. His shoulders slouched and he felt a gnawing pain in his gut – it was fear. He'd heard about the terrors of the surface-world… the remnants of what had once been a great nation… mutation and hostile natives… All this went without mention of Sam's injuries, which themselves had the potential to bite him back at an inopportune time.

He took one wobbly step after another towards the door, glancing back only once at Amata, who herself looked to be in a bad way, curled up next to the control panel and watching Sam leave. It struck him that Sam had been one of her only friends.

She had been his _only_ friend.

He heard the alarms again, the signal that his life underground, his life in his home, was ending. With a heart-wrenching screech, the door slid shut, and Sam was left with but one direction: out. The tunnel was lined on either side with skeletons and trinkets, personal effects, artefacts of the war and its aftermath. It made Sam very nervous, his every step shaking and uncertain as the incline of the tunnel increased drastically. Ahead was a light – it must have been the end of the tunnel.

The closer to this light he got, the more detail was revealed: it was a chain-link fence with a door made of wooden planks, which seemed dilapidated. Sam pulled the door open and the light blinded him, worsening his already aching head. He cast his gaze downward, using his hand to shield his eyes as he walked.

The edge of a cliff came upon him almost quicker than he could react; the ground dropped away at what was a ninety-degree angle downward, and Sam barely had time to react, ceasing his shuffling and staring at the bottom below. That was the furthest drop he'd ever seen in his life, and he knew he would have to unshield his eyes to get a better look. Though he wouldn't admit it, Sam had no clue where it was he was meant to go.

He let his hand drop away and squinted forward, trying to adjust his eyes.

His vision, for all his life distended, cleared and became more precise as he adjusted to the overwhelming light-level of the surface world. And the scene it unveiled was nothing like Sam had ever before seen. For miles, all Sam could see was a barren, rocky, brown wasteland; in the far distance to the southwest were what looked to be the remains of an old city, its buildings themselves dilapidated and distended. Turning his gaze northward, back towards Vault 101, Sam saw virtually nothing but brown, brown, and brown, with rocky outcroppings the only relief from what must have been an eternity of dust and dirt. The sky above was scarcely any better; apart from that blindingly-bright light and wispy grey clouds, the sky seemed permanently overcast, the blue one promised by Mister Brotch a falsity. It was suitably hot to fit the scenery of this endless desert.

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**If all goes according to plan, this will be updated on a weekly basis.**


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